He had not thought of his better clothes; there might still be
work to do, and his Chief might again need his services. Ruth
would understand, he said to himself--all of which was true.
Indeed, she liked him better in his high-water rubber boots, wide
slouch hat and tarpaulins than in the more conventional suit of
immaculate black with which he clothed his shapely body whenever
he took her to one of the big dinners at one of the great houses
on Washington Square.
And she liked this suit best of all. She had been peeping through
the curtains and her critical admiring eyes had missed no detail.
She saw that the cavalier boots were gone, but she recognized the
short pea-jacket and the loose rolling collar of the soft flannel
shirt circling the strong, bronzed throat, and the dash of red in
the silken scarf.
And so it is not surprising that when he got within sight of her
windows, his cheeks aflame with the crisp air, his eyes snapping
with the joy of once more hearing her voice, her heart should have
throbbed with an undefinable happiness and pride as she realized
that for a time, at least, he was to be all her own.
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